


Private Performance

by Inell



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Banter, Detective Stiles, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Future Fic, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Med Student Jackson, Playful Sex, Romance, Stripper Jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jackson gets home from his shift at the club, Stiles asks him to do a private show</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Performance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ignorethosewarningsigns](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ignorethosewarningsigns).



> ignorethosewarningsigns prompted: Stiles/Jackson & Jawline kiss
> 
> Shamelessly inspired by [this image](http://inell.tumblr.com/post/143433683046). Hope you enjoy!

It’s a little after four in the morning when Jackson gets home from the club. Stiles is working swing shift this week, so he doesn’t have to be at the station until three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Fortunately, he’s able to stay up to wait for Jackson without having to worry about being dead tired tomorrow. When he’s got first shift, he’ll usually doze on the sofa until Jackson gets home from work because he knows Jackson likes coming home to him when he works a shift at Mirage.

“Hey, babe,” Stiles says, pausing the episode of Criminal Minds that he’s in the middle of and smiling at his boyfriend. “Good night?”

“Is it ever a good night when I have to pull a shift there?” Jackson makes a face before dropping his bag on the floor. He comes over to where Stiles is sitting and straddles his lap. “I made enough money tonight that I won’t have to go back again for a few weeks, at least.” He leans in and kisses Stiles’ jaw, brushing his lips along the curve of it as he rolls his hips. 

While Jackson bitches about stripping at Mirage, performing as he always corrects Stiles with a huff, Stiles knows it turns him on to have everyone’s attention on him and to be able to smell the customers’ arousal as he takes his clothes off for money. Stiles has watched him perform many times before, and he’s fucking amazing, which makes Stiles shamelessly gloat just a little more because he’s the one Jackson comes home to after a night working at the club. “Of course you did, _Dr. Love_ ,” he teases, moving his head so he can kiss Jackson’s jaw. “You know you’ll be back next week. Why are you even pretending? You’re such an exhibitionist.”

“Pot, kettle,” Jackson murmurs, arching a brow as he pulls back to give Stiles a pointed look. “You get off on being watched even more than I do, wiseass.”

“Never denied it.” Stiles grins, bucking up slightly. He’s the one who started working at Mirage during freshman year of college, after all, because he needed to make good money with minimal effort. Jackson found out about his job when they started dating a few months after Stiles got the job, and he eventually started working there, too, because he’s a stubborn ass who insists on saving his trust fund for rainy days when he can make good money getting off on people wanting him. Med school’s expensive. “It did wonders for my self-esteem and confidence, as you well know.”

“It also made you horny as fuck,” Jackson drawls, smiling smugly when he rolls his hips a certain way that makes Stiles’ face start to flush. “Rosie and the girls ask about you, you know? Want to know if you’ll come back for an appearance some time. I always tell them that you’re an upstanding citizen now, and you probably don’t want to risk anyone at the station finding you stripping for tips.”

“You know, if you’re going to give me a lap dance, you should give me the whole show,” he says, making a mental note to stop by Mirage to see the ladies because it’s been too long. Becoming a cop with SFPD sort of means moonlighting as a stripper probably isn’t the wisest choice, so he’d given it up when he joined the force nearly two years ago. He’s just looking forward to a day when Jackson’s doing a rotation at the hospital and runs into someone who calls him Dr. Love by mistake. It’s totally going to happen because San Francisco is like a small town in a big city, especially in the gay community. And Mirage is _the best_ male strip club in the whole Bay Area so it’s just a matter of time.

“The whole show, huh?” Jackson licks Stiles’ jaw and kisses it with a loud smack before getting off his lap far more gracefully than Stiles would ever manage. The bastard. He takes a few steps back and gives Stiles his professional ‘I’m so much better than you are and you totally want me’ look that, unfortunately, always makes Stiles’ dick twitch rather happily despite his mind being annoyed by the smug superiority. “You couldn’t afford me, _baby_.”

“Oh, really?” Stiles snaps his fingers and laughs, reaching between the seat cushions and pulling out a stack of play money he bought at the dollar store last time he visited Scott. He could have bought it locally, but he enjoyed the whole explaining to Scott _why_ he was buying fake money thing because he still owes years of payback for TMI regarding Allison, Kira, and then Lydia. He waves the stack of money and leers. “You’d better be nice to paying customers, boy. _Real nice_ , if you know what I mean.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“A brick wall would know what you mean,” Jackson deadpans. He looks at the money Stiles is waving around and huffs a laugh. “I can’t believe you bought fake money. Nevermind. Of course I can. It’s you we’re talking about here. You love your props when we play.”

“What? Last time I wanted a private show, you refused because you, quote, don’t work for free asshole, unquote. Obviously, I had to invest time and money in this so I can enjoy a private performance.” Stiles wiggles around on the sofa until he’s comfortable, taking his shirt off in the process. “I’ve even got a playlist of appropriate songs for my hot boyfriend to strip to.”

“You had better rename that playlist. Or, no, just delete it because you probably just raided the Magic Mike soundtrack and a Top Stripping Songs list on Google.” Jackson rolls his eyes. “As if I’d ever perform to something cliché and common like that.” He sniffs haughtily before pulling his phone out of the pocket of his jeans. 

Stiles just laughs at him, openly staring as Jackson scrolls through his phone before selecting a song. God, he’s so pretty that it’s disgusting. And he’s all Stiles’, which definitely makes it less disgusting. When he hears the beginning of the song, he’s surprised. “Seriously?” He looks at Jackson, licking his lips as Jackson starts to slowly move his hips and touch his chest. “It’s a sappy romantic song, Jax. How is this more strip worthy than cliché stuff?”

“Because it has meaningful lyrics that are sensual,” Jackson points out. “And it’s unexpected, slow and sexy, not fast and intended for a group performance. Now shut up or I’ll stop. You wanted a private performance, and you’re getting one.”

“Got it. Shutting up.” Stiles mimes zipping his lips even as Jackson rolls his eyes and starts the song over. Jackson can talk about slow and sexy all he wants. Stiles totally remembers that this song had been playing at the Jungle that night they ran into each other a week after graduating from high school. They hadn’t danced to it, but there had been a lot of eye fucking and sexual tension mixed with awkward flirting happening. This sappy song had been the accompanying soundtrack for the chance meeting that had inadvertently started their romance, and, now, six years later, it’s the song Jackson’s stripping to. It’s really amazing how far they’ve come. 

“You aren’t paying attention,” Jackson grumps, sulking as he stops moving. “I know I’m so gorgeous that it’s hard to think when faced with my presence, but I’m starting to get annoyed.”

“Sorry. I was just struck dumb by your sheer beauty,” Stiles tells him, fluttering his eyelashes in a way that makes Jackson’s lips twitch. He’s still pouting, but he wants to smile, so it’s a win in Stiles’ book. “I’d say to shake it for me, but I don’t think Savage Garden wrote this song with ass shaking in mind. More like love making.” He leers again, which does actually earn him a quick smile before Jackson seems to remember that he’s annoyed.

“If you were a real paying client, I’d have already taken your money and walked away,” Jackson mutters, shaking his head before picking his phone back up. He stops ‘Truly Madly Deeply’ then scrolls through music.

“Hey, you can totally use that song. I’ll be good. Promise.” Stiles makes a scout’s honor sign, which earns him a playful glare.

“You were never a boy scout, so that doesn’t mean anything.” Jackson hmphs. “I was trying to be romantic, but my efforts are obviously for naught. I should have known they’d be wasted on you once your cock’s involved in the proceedings.”

“Low blow there, asshole.” Stiles takes two of the fake ten dollar bills and throws them at Jackson. “My dick’s not involved any more than it usually is when it comes to you. Which is a lot normally, so there. And I totally remember that cheesy ass song playing when we ran into each other at the Jungle. See? I can be romantic, too.”

Jackson looks at him and smiles slightly before ducking his head like the big goober he truly is underneath the confident bluster of arrogance and assholeishness. No one believes Stiles when he talks about what a hopeless romantic his boyfriend is, since Jackson just doesn’t really seem the type, but it’s totally true. He’d even brought Stiles flowers, _live ones_ , on their first date. Stiles is much better with the sex stuff, always knowing what Jackson might want to try before he even seems to realize it, always pushing their limits and being adventurous in ways Jackson is honestly just a little too insecure and a little too shy to be without encouragement.

When music begins to play, Stiles’ arches a brow at the thrum thrum of Nine Inch Nails. “Okay, so, yeah. That’s a definite cliché there, babe,” he points out, unable to really say much of anything else as Jackson ignores him and really begins to move. He’s beautiful, and the whole werewolf thing just seems to make him more magnetic when he gets in a sexy mood like this. He’s unbuttoning his shirt, looking at Stiles likes he wants to eat him, in a decidedly hot and kinky way, and Stiles has to lick his lips because his mouth is suddenly dry.

It gets even drier when Jackson prowls forward and actually grabs a few of the fake bills with his teeth, pulling back and thrusting his hips towards Stiles. Stiles gapes at him, dick hardening as he watches Jackson roll his hips and play with his shirt with money hanging out of his mouth. Jackson gets the shirt unbuttoned and shrugs it off during a twirl and ass shake that would make Queen Beyoncé proud. His t-shirt soon follows, thrown to the floor as he gyrates and thrusts his hips to Trent Reznor’s growling about fucking like animals. God, Stiles isn’t sure he’s going to make it through this without coming in his pants like a horny pre-teen because Jackson really is just that good at stripping.

As Jackson turns back to face him, Stiles holds out the money. “Come and get it,” he murmurs, staring at Jackson’s nipples, which are hard from the cool air conditioning, the silver ring in one shining from the overhead light. “I want to see more, Jax. Take the rest off for me. Just for me.”

“Always just for you,” Jackson says, eyes flashing blue in that possessive way that makes Stiles actually have to reach down to squeeze his dick. He watches Jackson’s fingers slide across his abdominal muscles, stroking them as he keeps moving, before finally unfastening the button of his jeans. He isn’t wearing any underwear.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes out, throwing the money in the air as he slides off the sofa and crawls to Jackson. Forget the show. He has to taste that pretty dick.

“Nuh uh. No touching the performers,” Jackson scolds, actually stepping back and shaking a finger at him. He’s smirking now, looks all triumphant like he’s won something, and he probably has because he likes making competitions in his head sometimes. Like goal oriented nonsense about making Stiles come first or getting Stiles to beg or whatever turns him on at any given time.

“You don’t get to tempt me with that pretty toy and not let me play with it,” Stiles point out, ready to start pouting himself for once. Jackson’s still moving, his jeans around his thighs now, hard dick sticking out with a slight curve to the left, looking all pink and ready for attention. “Listen to your dick, Jackson. It’s calling me. It wants my mouth on it. It needs a kiss. Don’t you, ickle Jackson?”

“Do not ever call my cock Ickle Jackson again or you won’t be talking to it for months,” Jackson warns, making a face. “You’re going to ruin the mood with that stupid junior high humor, dumbass. Now, how much money do you have? If it’s enough, I _might_ let you kiss my cock hello.”

“Sex for money, huh?” Stiles looks at him and grins. “Are you a high class call girl or a desperate sex worker? Should I call you Belle or Viv?” He keeps staring at Jackson as he reaches around on the floor until he’s got paper money in his hand. “This is what I’ve got, babe. Is it enough to buy me your dick for the night?”

“Not even close. I’m priceless,” Jackson sniffs, running his fingers through his hair. “And we aren’t playing that game tonight. No escort role play after I’ve spent the night having a bunch of handsy drunks ogling my ass.” He shudders before he picks up his phone. The song is over and now Pharrell Williams is singing about being Happy, so, yes, definitely a mood killer. Stiles glances down at the bulge in his sweatpants and alters that. Mood dampener, not killer.

“Yeah, that probably isn’t the best idea,” he agrees, knowing how skeevy it could be sometimes after stripping for three sets and doing lap dances. Most of the customers are great, but some are gross. And it’s a turn on being watched on stage, but the mingling part isn’t something he or Jackson like all that much. “Why don’t you let me suck your dick then we can go to sleep? I know you’ve had a long day, and you have to be back at the hospital by noon.”

“I’d rather suck yours,” Jackson says matter-of-factly. “So why not both? We can take this upstairs to the bedroom.”

“Both is good.” Stiles nods eagerly as he gets to his feet. He walks over to Jackson and stuffs the wad of paper money into his jeans, groping his dick as he kisses him thoroughly. Jackson returns the kiss, licking into his mouth even as he rolls his hips forward against Stiles’ hand. As they kiss, Stiles changes the game plan. They can suck each other off after a shower. Right now, he’s got something else in mind. He takes the money and starts jerking Jackson’s dick with it, feeling him react to the stimulation as he moans into the kiss.

As he strokes Jackson’s dick with fake hundred dollar bills, Stiles moves so he’s able to grind against Jackson’s thigh. It isn’t the best position for a good hand job, but Jackson doesn’t seem to mind. He’s bucking his hips forward and fucking into Stiles’ fist rather shamelessly, and it’s definitely turning Stiles on because he always loves it when Jackson lets go of some of his control to just lose himself in how he’s feeling and what he wants. The money is starting to get wet and gross, the way wet paper tends to, but Stiles keeps moving his hand, squeezing just the way Jackson likes, twisting his wrist and jerking faster.

“That’s it. Come for me, Jackson,” he urges against Jackson’s lips. “So fucking hot. You’re so good for me. So beautiful. Sexy as sin. Like that. Keep fucking my hand, feel that money wrapped around your dick? Bet you wish it was the real thing, show me how priceless you are by getting your spunk all over my money.”

“Stiles,” Jackson growls softly, gripping Stiles’ shoulders and fucking his fist harder, “shut up.”

“Nah, I know how much you like hearing me talk when you’re about to come,” Stiles reminds him, leaning in to kiss his jaw. “You get off hearing me talk dirty. You’ve admitted it before, no take backs.” He keeps kissing Jackson’s face, all along the curve of his jaw and his cheekbones before biting at his lips. He’s grinding against Jackson’s thigh a bit more intently now, his dick rubbing against his sweatpants, getting the friction he needs. Thank God he didn’t bother putting on underwear earlier and just let it all hang out in his sweats. It feels so good, and he starts riding Jackson’s thigh while moving his fist faster, tightening his grip as Jackson begins to make low noises that are oh so familiar.

When Jackson comes, a low broken moan spills from his lips. He spurts onto the floor, dripping onto Stiles’ fingers and his own stomach. The money is a lost cause, wet and clumped up, covered in come and dick sweat. Stiles shakes his hand to get the worst bits off his hand before bringing it up so he can lick at the come that isn’t part of soggy fake money. In retrospect, maybe the whole jerking him off with fake money wasn’t as sexy as Stiles originally thought. Of course, Jackson did get off on it, so it’s probably worth not being able to lick his hands completely dry now.

Jackson kisses him hard, gripping his ass and pulling him against his thigh firmly. With Jackson now taking an active role in Stiles’ attempts at getting off, he knows it won’t take long. He kisses Jackson back and snaps his hips forward, rubbing against that firm thigh until he’s bucking forward more erratically. Jackson slides his hands down the back of Stiles’ sweatpants, squeezing his bare ass, teasing him like the asshole he can be, driving Stiles crazy with light presses of his fingertips against his hole. Almost but not quite pressing inside. 

When Jackson kisses his way along Stiles’ jaw then down his neck, Stiles is gripping his shoulders for balance because he’s pretty far gone. He comes with a soft grunt when Jackson bites his neck, like Pavlov’s damn dog conditioned to come when bitten on the neck. Fucking werewolves who think they’re vampires with their neck fetishes. Jackson sucks on his neck, definitely leaving a mark, the possessive bastard, as Stiles comes in his pants until the material is wet and clinging to his bare dick as he keeps moving against Jackson’s thigh.

“That wasn’t the plan,” Jackson finally says when he’s managed to catch his breath.

“You complaining?” Stiles asks, arching a brow as he steps away and makes a face at his sweatpants.

“Nope.” Jackson pops the last bit of the word and smirks when Stiles gives him a ‘really? You douche frat boy’ look. “I think we both need a shower now, though. You’d better make sure my cock doesn’t turn green, either, because who knows what dye is used in that cheap money. There better not be any pieces left on me, either, since it got all gross when it was wet.”

“Whatever. You know it go you off,” Stiles tells him confidently. He might not have werewolf senses, but he’s got Jackson senses. Jackson narrows his eyes and then Stiles is hanging over his shoulder as he walks up the stairs. “I’d totally be slapping your ass and telling you to put me down right now if it weren’t five in the morning and I didn’t get off when you manhandle me sometimes.”

“Noted,” Jackson says, his tone amused and then he slaps Stiles’ ass, laughing when Stiles squeaks and wiggles on his shoulder. “Next time, you’re giving me a private show, by the way. I’ll even let you role play the call girl thing that gets you going if you want.”

“Awww. You so love me,” Stiles coos, grinning at Jackson’s back before leaning in to lick at his freckles.

Jackson huffs but Stiles totally knows he’s smiling because he’s a big goober like that. “Yeah, I guess maybe I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on Tumblr](http://inell.tumblr.com)


End file.
